Chapter 1 – Starting Over
The glow of the holographic display washed over Joseph's face, painting his features with pale light in the otherwise dim gaming room. His hands rested on the armrests of the sleek black VR pod, fingers curled loosely as though even they were reluctant to let go of the world on the screen.
For the last ten years, this screen had been his second reality, the battlefield where he carved his name into history. Now, it was about to become his grave.
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War Online – Player Profile
Username: ShadowReaper#2098
Clan Tag: [Shadow Corps]
Level: 200
Rank: Grandmaster
Points: 7,200
Operator: Shadow Ranger
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Matches Played: 14,825
Wins: 6,432
Top 10s: 11,289
Kills: 452,317
Deaths: 163,540
K/D Ratio: 2.76
Headshot %: 34%
Score Per Minute (SPM): 692
Longest Kill: 1,482m (HDR)
Contracts Completed: 32,845
Revives Given: 14,209
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Favorite Loadout: Ghost Hunter
Primary: Kastov-74u – Silencer, Red Dot, 45-Round Mag, Grip, Barrel Stabilizer
Secondary: Lachmann Sub – Silencer, 50-Round Drum, Laser, Stock, Grip
Perks: Double Time, Ghost, Fast Hands
Equipment: Semtex + Heartbeat Sensor
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The numbers filled his chest with a familiar pride, but tonight that pride came with a knife's edge. The stat screen blurred faintly as his eyes stung, not from exhaustion but from the weight of what was about to vanish.
A small message blinked red in the top right corner of his vision.
> Final Warning: Account Termination Pending.
> Reason: Association with disqualified team, Shadow Corps.
> Verification Required.
Joseph exhaled, the breath shaky. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Shadow Corps. His team. His brothers. His second family. Together they had stood at the top of War Online's esports scene, feared across every server. Ten years of grinding, strategizing, winning — and then losing everything in one brutal headline.
"Illegal trafficking of weaponized in-game items."
The world had gawked at the scandal, hungry for blood. Fans called them cheaters, profiteers, criminals hiding behind their controllers. The media storm didn't care about the truth, only the clicks.
The punishment was absolute. Every member was blacklisted. Their accounts — accounts forged with blood, sweat, and sleepless nights — were wiped clean.
Joseph stared at the blinking confirmation prompt. His finger hovered, trembled, but finally pressed Accept.
The stat screen flickered, then lines of text began dissolving, like sand swept away by the tide. His achievements, gone. His hard-earned weapons, loadouts, skins — deleted one by one until the screen turned black.
At the very end, a single line appeared in sterile white:
> Account Deleted. Thank you for playing.
The words lingered, cruelly polite, before fading into nothingness.
Joseph removed the VR helmet slowly, like it weighed a hundred pounds. The pod opened with a hiss of hydraulics, releasing him back into the silence of his room. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the helmet in his lap, then set it aside with care.
Thirty million dollars. That was what his career in War Online had earned him. Enough to send his younger brother through college, enough to pay for their mother's cancer treatments, enough to turn a middle-class family into the owners of a mansion in the upper district of Houston.
And now, it was gone.
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Joseph dragged himself out of the pod and walked across the glossy marble floor of the gaming suite. His reflection followed him in the darkened glass walls — tall, lean, with short black hair and the tired eyes of a man who had lived twice his age inside a virtual battlefield.
The scent of grilled fish lingered in the air as he entered the dining room. His mother sat at the long oak table, wearing a silk shawl around her shoulders, her hair tied neatly back. She had been strong once, a businesswoman with fire in her eyes, but years of sickness and treatments had dimmed that fire.
She looked up as Joseph entered, her eyes softening at once. "You're late again. Did the game keep you busy?"
Joseph forced a smile, though it felt brittle. He slid into the chair opposite her. "Something like that."
She gave a knowing look, the kind only mothers could. "Your food's gone cold. Should I heat it up?"
"No, it's fine." He pushed the plate around absentmindedly. The steam had long faded, leaving behind dry rice and a half-finished piece of fish.
Silence stretched between them before Joseph finally spoke. His voice was low, almost unwilling. "Mom… things are going to get harder from now on."
Her chopsticks paused. "Harder? What do you mean?"
He clenched his fists beneath the table. "The team… we were disqualified. My account… it's gone. Everything I built, all the income streams — cut off. We… we can't keep living like this."
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn't speak right away. Her gaze lingered on his face, then softened further, filled with quiet pain. "Joseph… you've done more than any son could. You've carried us for years. Your brother… me… we've lived in comfort because of you. Do you think I don't know how much you sacrificed?"
"That doesn't matter!" His voice rose, harsh, then cracked. He gritted his teeth, lowering it quickly. "It doesn't matter how much I've done if it's all gone now. Thirty million, Mom. Do you know how much that is? And yet it's dust now. Our lifestyle, the treatments, the tuition — it'll all fall apart."
She reached across the table, her thin hand covering his clenched one. Her palm was warm, trembling slightly. "Joseph, you're my son. I don't care about mansions or money. I care about you. As long as you're here, alive, that's all I need."
The words cut deeper than any system message ever could.
He swallowed hard, trying to blink away the burn in his eyes. But the bitterness in his chest didn't fade. "Mom, you don't understand. We can't keep affording the treatments if I can't work. You'll—"
"Enough." Her tone sharpened, soft but firm. She squeezed his hand. "I survived cancer once. If I have to fight again, I will. But I won't let you drown yourself in guilt. We'll live simpler, cut down expenses. We'll manage. You don't have to carry the world on your back anymore."
Joseph bowed his head, shoulders shaking faintly. For ten years, he had fought like a soldier in that digital battlefield — not for glory, but for this, for her. And now, with a few cruel keystrokes from corporate overlords, it was all undone.
Silence fell again, broken only by the faint ticking of the dining room clock.
Finally, Joseph pulled his hand back, pushing his chair away from the table. "I need some air."
"Joseph—"
"I'll be back," he said, forcing calm into his voice. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and walked out before she could stop him.
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The night air outside was cooler, brushing against his skin as he stepped onto the mansion's terrace. Neon lights from the city skyline flickered in the distance, but to Joseph, they looked hollow. He pulled out his phone — sleek, metallic, the latest iPhone 22— and the screen lit up.
5th of July, 2030.
The date felt like a brand burned into his mind. The day everything he had built came crashing down.
He locked the screen again and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Then, with heavy steps, he descended the marble stairs and left the mansion grounds, the gates sliding open to release him into the quiet streets of the neighborhood.
He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to move, to put distance between himself and the suffocating silence of a home that no longer felt like home.